


Constant In All Things

by Tamuril2



Series: Walking in the Stars [11]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Death but one you'll like, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 16:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7691278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamuril2/pseuds/Tamuril2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Dukat knows a weakness when he sees one. No slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constant In All Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerartist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerartist/gifts).



Of all things, it’s Cardassia that Dukat chooses for their…conversation. Elim wonders if it’s because Dukat wishes to flaunt his new power – a sort of ‘this is the only way you’ll ever get back home’ – or if the other male is truly that unimaginative. Elim cannot say for certain. He’s not had that much contact with his most favorite enemy. Not for a long while.

Oh, he’s maintained his contacts on Cardassia, and half the quadrants. Had them slip him details and Intel, but nothing beats a face-to-face interaction. The more often, the better.

Hence, Elim cannot say which side Dukat falls on.

It’s rather…annoying.

To say the least.

Elim had, at one time, prided himself of his ability to read his enemies and friends alike. But the nature of this very trip proves to Elim just how out of practice he really is. Living with the humans on Terok Nor seems to have dimmed his senses. He’s not pleased with that fact, though he is happy to know it exists. He can snuff it out now. Improve himself.

He’s still useful, and he’ll make sure Dukat knows it by the end of this.

He pauses at the archway of a shop, scanning the busy street. A mother hushes her child as she peers over at the overpriced jewelry. A few pickpockets eye some males sitting at a cafe. Another male hands off a package to his mate, her smile more a grimace as she looks at the cheap bowl. Yet, no one notices that there is a traitor amongst them, an outcast intruding on their daily lives. How…typical of civilians. They lack ambition or defense. It’s disgusting and appalling, all at the same time. How can they stand to go about their day, ignoring what’s right in front of their faces?

Elim never could think of doing such a thing.

But then, that’s why he joined the Order in the first place.

To put himself above the mundane and mediocre.

Until now, of course. But Elim is ready to rectify that. He takes a deep breath in, straightens his shoulders as he clasps his hands behind him back. He drains his face of any expression and strides into the dusty building, making sure to take note of the two visible guards at either end of the hallway. He’s sure there are multiple unseen eyes as well, but he forces himself to continue onward, regardless.

Let them try and ambush him.

The door Dukat chose for his setting is garish. The door itself is a dull grey, muted in its attempt to be unassuming. Which, of course, is useless because of the outlining embellishment on the framework. Gold emblems of authority curl unnaturally around contorted beasts. Elim’s sure the artist meant for it to symbolize Dukat’s domination as Second, but all Elim sees is a Cardassian male trying to show the people he’s ready for the position he found himself in.

Pitiful.   

He walks into the room without announcing himself. He owes Dukat no such difference, and he will not give it now. Not when the stakes are so high. His mission is clear, and subservience does _not_ play into it in any way. But he does falter a moment when he sees his quarry sitting inches from Dukat’s knee; head slanted to the side, half-naked but for his breeches, beaten, and clearly drugged – his eyes are too wide blown for it to be anything else.

It’s the collar that almost undoes Elim.

Bashir, tethered to Dukat like an animal.

The weeks have not been kind to the doctor. His ribs are showing a little and the bruises under his eyes speak of lacking proper sleep. The cracked lips hint towards even water being denied. It sends a small shudder down Elim’s spine, to see his methods so easily duplicated.

The leash swishes as Dukat tugs it. “My, my, such horrendous manners, Garak. Did Tain teach you nothing?”

Elim raises his eyes to look at Dukat’s smirk. “He taught me any things. Bowing to a coward was not one of them.”

He’ll start the conversation there. Place the ball, as the humans say, in Dukat’s court and see how to male reactions to a low level insult.

As it turns out, Dukat rejoins as a petulant child would. He grabs his toy and proceeds to harm it, knowing his opponent to be too strong to initiate a _real_ frontal attack. Fisting Bashir’s hair within his hand, Dukat yanks the human’s head back and sends a toothy grin Elim’s way when Bashir struggles to breath in the awkward position. Elim smooths his brow.

“Really, Dukat,” he purrs. “One would think you had no control over this situation.”

“I have all the control, Garak!” Dukat all but screams, leaning forward, his hand pulling Bashir with him. “You would do well to remember that. Your _pet’s_ life depends on it.”

Elim gives that slur all the attention it deserves.

None.

He moves on to the next strike. He needs to know what drugs are in the good doctor’s system. A ploy about Dukat’s weak Intel should do the trick. Elim smiles. “Ah, but then that would assume that your assets were truthful in their Intel.”

Dukat blinks and sits back, his eyes crinkling in the corners as his mouth turns down. “I assume nothing. I know my men to be loyal.”

“Of course, of course.” Elim says, inclining his head.

“Do not patronize me, Garak.” Dukat shakes Bashir’s head, and enough pain must filter through the drugs because Bashir grimaces slightly. “My hand might slip and inject more F3 into your pet.”

Ah, so that’s the drug used. So nice of Dukat to release that information so willingly. Elim stifles his satisfaction. It seems his skills have not regressed as far as he’d feared. It’s…a relief. It means his chances of success have now gone from 25% to 45%.

“I tire of your arrogance, Garak,” Dukat says, releasing Bahir’s hair and waving haphazardly. “Kneel and beg for your pet’s life.”

What?

Elim will do no such thing.

But Garak, former member of the Obsidian Order, sees the wisdom in acquiescing to the whim. After all, it’s merely words and gestures. They both know Elim won’t truly mean it. Not really. It’s all for show.

He lowers himself to his knees and places his hands, palm down, on his thighs. “Please, return –”

“Atch!” Dukat raises a finger. “Is that an attitude of a penitent? Come, Garak, you can do better.”

Elim bits his tongue and shuffles forward until he is but a few feet away. Then he bows low. “Please, return Bashir to me. Alive.”

He tags that stipulation on at the end. For he’s under no allusions that Dukat will not try such an underhanded tactic.

“Not bad, but I still detect a hint of arrogance, Garak. Try again.”

Elim crawls forward on his knees, head still bowed. “Please, Dukat, return my friend. He…I would miss our lunches.”

Dukat’s rough laughter barks out. “Oh good, very good, Garak. I almost believed you that time. Let’s say we try one last time. And add in a bonus. Convince me, or I shall torture Bashir anew, before your very eyes.”

Elim takes a slow, even breathe. He hunches his shoulders inward. Tilts his feet into until he’s resting on the balls of them. Arches his back. His hands curl into fists.

And then he lunges.

Wraps his hands around Dukat’s thick neck and snaps it.

It’s over in a second, and part of Elim – the dark depths he tries to hide from the worlds’ outside– is sorry it ended so quickly. Dukat deserved to die a long, slow death for attempting this charade. The male’s dark eyes stare into his own, wide with shock. And this imbecile thought he could make Elim truly beg? Elim scoffs as he rips the leash from Dukat’s limp fingers. As if he would stoop to such measures for this worm.

He bends a knee and lifts Bashir’s chin. The drug is wearing off a little. He can see the terror and sorrow building, even as he sees Bashir struggle to make sense of what he’s witnessed. He smiles gently at the man, sensing the new presence behind him.

“He was your Second, was he not?” he asks.

“A bad one,” Tain says, striding into view. “I told him this would not turn out the way he hoped.”

“And still you let him try?”

“I grew weary of his ineptitude,” Tain shrugs, ever unapologetic – as he always is in Elim’s memories.

“I am pleased to have served Cardassia then.” Elim takes Bashir by the arm and pulls him up. “Are we free to leave?”

“Of course.” Tain signals a male over. A key is produced and Elim unlocks the collar. He offers no thanks and Tain asks for none. It is the way of things. Of life.

“I fear I must take my leave now.”

“Yes.” Tain shakes his head. “But never mind. I have given the outposts my explicate instructions to let you leave Cardassian space unharmed.”

This time, Elim does give a nod of thanks. It is only right. Tain could have just allowed them to leave the shop and fend for themselves. No injustice would have been seen in that mercy. Yet Tain has taken this extra step. It speaks volumes to Elim. But he says nothing. A verbal gratitude would only diminish what Tain gave them.

So he merely nods and walks away, never looking back.


End file.
